


Demons

by Anonymous



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-22
Updated: 2002-04-22
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15098057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She wants to go to the gates of the White House and hurl them through the windows of the residence one at a time screaming see what you've done because she blames the man in the Oval Office for this as much as the man who gave Leo life and a gene somewhere that probably passed this disease onto him, although the curse was most likely passed down from generations before then.





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Demons**

**by:** Loz 

**Disclaimer:** Sometime in the far off future: - NEWSFLASH: Snow falls in hell, and in other news, Lauren successfully acquires ownership of TWW. Lyrics from Savage Gardens Hold me.

**Category:** Romance, CJ/Leo

**Spoilers:** If you know Leo is a recovering alcoholic... general tone of season 3, not written with any specific moment or post ep in mind.

**Rating:** YTEEN

**Author's Note:** A little darker than usual from me. 

"Leo are you here?" CJ fumbles for the light switch, eventually immersing the hotel room in light. House keeping has been, starch white towels folded neatly on the bed. 

The air is stuffy and smells slightly of cleaning chemicals, CJ opens the doors to the terrace, escaping the bleach that burns the inside of her nose. 

She's only known him intimately for six months, on some peoples calendar it's long enough for him to be proposing, for CJ there are still too many things she wants to know about him still, like how he can afford to rent the penthouse each night when he spends so little time here and why he doesn't just go out and rent an apartment like everyone else...if he can afford a penthouse, he can afford to buy an apartment. 

Is the hotel room symbolic of him clinging to the thin hope that Jenny will have him back someday, because to invest in something permanent would be an admission of giving up on them. 

And where does that leave CJ? A transitional relationship seems an ill fitting label, or just keeping his bed warm. 

Either way she's falling in love with him and it's going to be a hard fall if he doesn't feel the same. 

The phone by the bed is flashing, indicating a message is waiting at reception and CJ dials in to pick it up, the staff know her and who she is to Leo, not giving it a second thought if she picks up messages and makes restaurant bookings. 

There's one voice message been left, for her as it turns out. The recording catches the end of him yelling for his assistant and she knows what he's going to say before he says it. He's been giving evidence all day and he'll use tonight to catch up on work, she's not to wait up for him and he'll make it up to her tomorrow. 

Tomorrow is Saturday and he won't make it up to her by not working the half day. 

Feeling sure the hotel won't be impressed if she orders takeout and has it delivered, CJ doesn't feel like dragging herself downstairs to eat alone in the hotel restaurant, last time it was full of holidaying families and a couple who sat within her eye line. Their caressing hands and legs under the table an inhibiting distraction. 

It only made her depressed because she never did things like that with Leo, because of who they are, where they work and where they stand in the public eye and while she accepted whole heartedly the way they would have to conduct their relationship for the most part, it never failed to be bitter when she saw a couple kissing or holding hands in public, unconstrained by the protocols that governed their life, protocol for the sole purpose of her life not being harder than it already was. 

Never the happy homemaker herself, CJ holds little hope of finding anything to eat in his fridge, searching regardless for ingredients she can hopefully make into something resembling a meal. 

There's a packet of oats in the top cupboard, closer inspection proves they're a month past their use by date, a bag of corn chips propped up next to them. CJ doesn't check given the status of the oats. The complimentary coffee is stashed in amongst the cups, the Kenyan blend probably the only thing consumed in the kitchen. 

CJ could probably count on her fingers the number of time she's even seem him set foot in this kitchen. 

The fridge reveals caviar that's still in date, her stomach protesting at the idea of the fish eggs spread across the two slices of refrigerated bread. 

She pulls the apple and two slices of cheese out and reluctantly the bread. 

The milk and yogurt get tipped down the sink and when the sour smells reaches her nose she almost brings up her lunch to follow. 

The freezer is the last hope, given her previous finds a microwave dinner is way out of possibility. 

Instead it's full of alcohol. 

Stunned, CJ pulls the first bottle out, ice has clung to the outside and she pushes it away to read the label, knowing already, by the clear liquid inside, what it is. 

Finlandia, distilled using spring water in Finland and renowned for it's smooth taste. 

Her brothers sprouting after completing his bar course echoes in her head. 

Smirnoff, Russian export and the worlds favorite vodka and has no odor or impurity. 

Absolut, manufactured in Sweden since the seventeen hundreds and London dry Gin. 

Vodka Martini anyone she thinks bitterly. 

She sits across the table from them, staring like the cops she's seen on TV trying to intimidate the suspect. The bottles sweat as they adjust to room temperature like an admission of guilt. She doesn't know what to do, because she loves him too much to just put them back in the freezer like she never knew they were there, but she doesn't want to confront him with them because she doesn't know what it's like and she's not his keeper. 

She wants to go to the gates of the White House and hurl them through the windows of the residence one at a time screaming see what you've done because she blames the man in the Oval Office for this as much as the man who gave Leo life and a gene somewhere that probably passed this disease onto him, although the curse was most likely passed down from generations before then. 

Instead she picks up each bottle one at a time, breaking the seal and listening to the liquid gurgle down the kitchen drain as she cries. She cries like she never has before because the man she loves demons are knocking again and she doesn't know what to do. She cries till her head aches, her sobs have taken control and the kitchen sink is a blur of shadowy grays and silvers. 

When they're empty she washes them clean, barely noticing as the scalding water burns her hands in her attempt to rid then bottles of the odorless spirit. 

They go back in the freezer full of water. 

She throws her clothes into the depths of the minimal closet space and climbs in between the stiff sheets. 

She's haunted by the night when she'd come here before him and ordered off the dry bar through room service. She'd taken one mouthful before tipping the rest in a plant on the terrace, unable to bare the thought he might be disappointed by her actions at the time...she was because she knew of better ways to come down from a bad day and she'd always believed no one had the right to put an addict of anything in the path of temptation. The miniature bottle was hidden in her bag where she knew he had no reason to look and the next night it went in her recycling. 

When she finally cries herself to sleep it's a tormented slumber. 

The sound of crying brings CJ back to consciousness from a vivid nightmare, her sluggish processes tell her it's an extension of the dream, she's still walking the line between conscious and unconscious, but a faint glow under the bedroom door makes her realize he's home and the sobs she can hear are his. 

Over the course of a half hour she's managed to completely disentangle the sheets from the mattress and she's sprawled diagonally across the bed they share on many nights. 

The cotton sheet is crisp around her bare skin, not having been wrapped around two warm bodies like usual. She has to shuffle because it pools around her feet, not bothering to hitch it up thus lessening the chance of tripping. 

He sits in front of the bottles which he's lined up one after another, like a general inspecting his soldiers. 

The difference is two of them are already empty, he unscrews the cap on number three, throwing his head back till she assumes he can almost see her standing behind him and he drinks till he has to gasp for breath and the excess he couldn't swallow runs down his chin. 

Number four goes to his lips, but the water goes down wrong and it ends in a coughing fit that dissolves into more tears, the bottle rolls across the table spilling everywhere. 

CJ's never seen a grown man cry before and there's something honest about it because tears aren't the expression of choice when men have a crisis, unlike some women for whom tears are employed at the most trivial of times. 

She gathers the sheet that has slipped when she brushed away a sole tear and the slight crinkling of the white cotton catches his ears and when he sees her his face crumbles all over again. 

She thinks he might yell, yell and throw the bottles in her direction like she wants to do to the President, or at least kick her out for de-railing his fall from the wagon. 

Instead he melts into her outstretched arms, holding onto her like she were his only life line. He whispers thank you over and over and she holds him tighter, because in the beginning she was blindfolded in a field full of mines not knowing which way to turn, but now she knows her actions were the right ones to take. 

A comforting hand runs through his thinning hair, another across his back and she whispers it will be alright and other soothing words. She doesn't know how, but somehow she just knows it'll be ok. 

__I might need you to hold me tonight  
I might need you to say it's alright  
I might need you to make the first stand  
Cause tonight I'm finding it hard to be your man

__

Much later as the sun starts it's announcement of a new day through the bedroom window he tells CJ that he came so close tonight and she bought him back, shielded him. 

For a moment she doesn't reply, reaching out her hand to caress the side of his face, then whispering to him again, it'll be Ok. 

There's strength in her face and determination in her voice despite it's hushed volume. 

"I love you CJ, I should have told you a long time before now, I love you." 

And everything else she wants to know about him is no longer important. 


End file.
